Week Ending 11/29/24
Happy Thanksgiving!
It’s wild that only two new films open this year’s Thanksgiving week in Buffalo. MOANA 2 went wide and MARIA hit North Park. That’s it. We usually get 3-4 titles on Wednesday and then a couple more Friday. I’m going to chalk it up to WICKED and GLADIATOR II and the fact that there just aren’t any open screens.
And that there are 4-5 big hitters being saved to battle against each other on Christmas day. Because that’s a smart business plan.
The FYC screeners poured in this week with what I assume is the same reasoning. Every studio hopes to derail their competitors during the long weekend by offering “something better.” It’s a dumb tactic since they’re now all part of the same white noise and thus more prone to being lost in the inbox. The true power move would be to send stuff on Halloween. Make certain we see yours before the others.
But we aren’t talking about sane people. We’re talking about greedy ones. This a gate-kept industry that delivers ultimatums (I got a “Don’t tell anyone you saw this via a link” two days before the title hit its own streaming service and a “This is the only chance you’ll have to see the film” a week before a screener for it hit my email) instead of assistance.
That’s why I’ve adopted the mantra: “It’s not my job to see your film. It’s yours.” If they want my vote, the onus is on them to ensure I see it. I’d rather spend my time watching under-seen and under-appreciated indie and foreign titles anyway.
What I Watched:
ANORA
(in theaters)
When Ani (Mikey Madison) starts gushing to her friend about planning a honeymoon in Disney World post-shotgun wedding, her BFF knows exactly which suite she'd target: Cinderella. It's an apt guess regardless of it being Ani's favorite character since Sean Baker's Anora plays similarly to that Greek folk tale turned Grimm Brothers bedtime story turned Disney classic. The difference here, however, is that her Prince Charming isn't interested in finding his girl from the pumpkin. He's not even interested in his kingdom beyond the riches it provides. So, when the clock strikes midnight, it's Ani who must search for him.
Baker's films often have an air of fantasy to them, but they always exist firmly in the real world. It won't therefore just be Ani who's on the lookout for Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn) and her involvement in that hunt won't be without duress. Because despite what he's told her about himself and the fun they've had on this one-week adventure of consequence-free hedonism, his ability to pick whomever he wants to love is contingent upon his desire to satisfy his parents. The question then is whether his proposal's notion of wanting to be with Ani regardless of the money is true. It's love or power.
The first act showcases Ani in her element. A montage of her work as an exotic dancer fills the opening credits before her boss takes her to meet a big spender that requested someone who spoke Russian. Ani doesn't like to speak it because she doesn't think she sounds good, but she can understand the language due to her grandmother never learning English. So, she and Ivan make a cute pair swimming through each other's native tongues en route to a whirlwind affair that ultimately leads them to a Las Vegas altar. It's heading towards a happy ending (in both senses of the phrase) when Toros (Karren Karagulian) and his goons enter the frame.
Cue act two: the chase. Because when Toros, Garnick (Vache Tovmasyan), and Igor (Yura Borisov) come knocking at the door, Ivan knows to run. What then is Ani to do? Assume he's left her behind or that he's off getting help? Either way, she's stuck with her captors until they can discover the answer. So, we go from the high life of booze and music to the record scratch hangover of boots-on-the-ground pursuit while beat-up, demoralized, and scared. Ani is afraid these guys are going to hurt more than they have. The guys are afraid she's going to continue doing even worse to them before inevitably facing Ivan's parents' wrath. But first thing's first. Find their fugitive and figure out the rest later.
It's a wild ride through Brooklyn that entertains and thrills in equal measure once we realize Ani will go further than Toros despite him having the upper hand. Madison imbues the character with an unwavering tenacity that leads to many comical exchanges (verbal and physical) within an otherwise harrowing situation. She doesn't know how far these guys will go—although their reaction to the escalating tensions definitely puts us at ease to the fact that she won't be killed (at least not intentionally). But since Ani has proven herself extremely resourceful throughout where self-worth and rights are concerned, it's no surprise when she starts following their lead anyway. Whatever gets her back to Ivan to fix this mess once and for all.
Writing Ani's main antagonists as middlemen proves to be a genius creative move. She's able to beat them up with ease since her stake in this is much higher than theirs. They're able to show the incompetence inherent to being thrust into circumstances way above their glorified babysitter status. And Ivan, a hired hand of sorts who is almost as in-the-dark to the bigger picture as Ani, is able to laugh once things really go off-the-rails. It's the perfect dynamic of blind leading blind considering none of them know what's going to happen when Ivan's parents arrive. Ani is trying to salvage that happily ever after of riding into the sunset with the man she loves while Toros is trying to salvage his job as the Zakharov family's American emissary. Neither is looking good.
The danger for a filmmaker less intuitive and sensitive to the drama he's created than Baker would be getting so caught up in the fun of the chase that they'd forget the emotional backbone. Above all the peacocking and ultimatums is the reality that Ani's life has been turned upside down overnight ... twice. Here she was dancing and taking escort jobs on the side only to end up married to the wealthy son of a Russian oligarch who treated her well. Then, when the dream was solidifying into stone, the bubble is violently burst in a way that has all the makings of forcing her to feel like the whore they think she is. Ani holds onto the dream so tightly because she refuses to be made cheap by a bunch of one-percenters and the real whores in their employ (Toros, etc).
We do too since she doesn't deserve that pain and her abusers do. But as she gets closer to the finish line and the truth of what's happened gets clearer, she cannot help but reckon with her reality. It doesn't mean she'll take it without a fight, though. Madison is truly a force of nature when it comes to standing her ground—even if her footing simply can't compete with that of those pushing her around. This is a heavy role that demands a depth of feeling well beyond the steely façade of take-no-prisoners attitude she adopts. It leads to an unforgettable finale steeped in the conflicted emotions of a woman put through the wringer until, finally, her Ani can vulnerably let her compounded anguish loose.
- 10/10
MARIA
(in theaters)
“The whole is imbued with similar flourishes as Larraín's other English-language heightened biographies, Jackie and Spencer, to find its narrative thrust landing somewhere between the former's poetic realism and latter's evocative fantasy.”
– Full thoughts at jaredmobarak.com
SATURDAY NIGHT
(VOD/Digital HD)
It's ninety minutes until showtime and Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) needs to cut over an hour of script, hope someone will take a free ticket to sit in the audience, and get John Belushi (Matt Wood) to sign his contract. Dick Ebersol (Cooper Hoffman) wants to work in product placement. Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O'Brien) wants to hit on every woman backstage with the same exact shtick while those he used it on previously are in earshot. And Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith) wants to ensure whatever this is might at least put his pretty face in front of the right person to actually give him his big break.
Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) is questioning why a Julliard-trained actor like himself was hired for this gig. Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn) is fighting imposter syndrome. And both Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt) and Jane Curtin (Kim Matula) are simply having fun. You must admire those last two since the chaotic atmosphere backstage is hardly conducive to such an in-the-moment sense of zen—especially when NBC censor Joan Carbunkle (Catherine Curtin) is putting red pen all over Michael O'Donoghue's (Tommy Dewey) lewd scripts and NBC executive Dave Tebet's (Willem Dafoe) mere presence has everyone thinking the executioner is biding his time before swinging the axe.
This is Jason Reitman's Saturday Night—a love letter to the landmark first episode of "Saturday Night Live" that almost never was. Written by him and Gil Kenan from what is assuredly a laundry list of first-hand anecdotes (an umbrella "thank you" runs during the end credits for everyone who shared their stories), we mostly follow Michaels as he attempts to put out the never-ending list of fires that were mostly set by his own lofty expectations. How will he handle the lighting director quitting? How will he soothe Jim Henson's (Nicholas Braun) trepidation that no one is taking his craft seriously? How will he break the news that some of the planned sketches won't make it to air?
It's a wild juggling act that succeeds precisely because it doesn't have the time to delve too far into anyone else's psyche but the show's creator. Sure, we get a little taste of the conflicts (Belushi and Chase fighting) and insecurities (Newman and Morris), but those glimpses feed into his whirlwind. Yes, they are important contextually, but not emotionally. Whether those characters find their answers doesn't matter in the grand scheme of pulling off the impossible—both because they won't need to worry if it implodes and because you cannot narratively have that many characters finding their epiphany all at once on the same night. They are merely fuel for the fire that threatens to consume Michaels.
The escalation in suspense is therefore all his too. What at first plays like Lorne is buying his own bullshit as far as everything being okay and on-schedule quickly devolves into an ulcer-inducing level of fear. There's a great exchange between him and Ebersol where we really get a good look inside the former's head where it concerns the amount of confidence necessary to even think you could pull something like this off. Because it's not about Michaels being stupid. He knows that all the signs point to NBC always wanting him to fail (they are sprinkled throughout the film). He just can't accept that reality if he hopes to win. And the higher his fear level goes, the more his instincts take over.
So, come for the hijinks and Easter eggs (since the movie ends when Chase says, "Live from New York," we're privy to rehearsals of and pitches for some iconic favorites regardless of whether they were actually all swirling in this specific pool of creativity), but stay for the impact of watching an artist paint his masterpiece. The whole "It's very Warhol" about Belushi in the bee costume is funny since this film is very Warhol in the sense that Michaels is wielding his gang of comedians, writers, and crew so that their genius will fulfill his artistic vision. He must push their buttons perfectly to alternatively assuage egos and gas them up while hoping they hit their marks. This is a portrayal of creation. Carefully laid plans subverted by spontaneity, necessity, and salesmanship. It's a hope and a prayer.
Everyone is fantastic in it too. Smith, O'Brien, Matula, and Morris are my favorites of the main cast—mimicry or not, they're very funny. Braun as both Henson and Andy Kaufman is a delight, his mammoth frame delivering the quietest and kindest words amidst a profane and violent circus. Andrew Barth Feldman as Michaels' right-hand (and cousin) Neil Levy and Rachel Sennott as Lorne's writer, wife, and partner Rosie Shuster steal scenes with their absurdity and pragmatism respectively. And LaBelle carries them all on his shoulders through every impossible success and devastating (yet not insurmountable) failure. Add Jon Batiste's live score propelling us from one scene or room to the next and you end up just as out-of-breath as them.
- 8/10
SWEETHEARTS
(streaming on Max)
“Yes, following [Hearon's Palmer] takes us away from the "main plot," but I'd argue his path is both more interesting and makes [the leads' plot] better through the act of "ruining" it.”
- Full thoughts at jaredmobarak.com
THE SUBSTANCE
(streaming on MUBI)
It's only a matter of time before the women in Coralie Fargeat's The Substance start adopting the same abuse their male counterparts deliver upon them. That's the whole thing here, right? It's not just about the misogyny originated by the patriarchy, but also the ingrained misogyny trained into the women forced to endure it. Because while we want to believe Elisabeth (Demi Moore) chooses to take the titular chemical to prove to her producer (Dennis Quaid's Harvey) that she still has what it takes to be a star, we know the reason is actually self-hatred and fear. She's afraid his words about her being worthless are true and that the whole world agrees. So, inevitably, she believes it too.
The phone number given to her promises a cure. It promises a way to give birth to a newer, younger, more beautiful her. As long as she follows the rules (feed the dormant half via an IV for seven days and always switch consciousness back and forth after that exact duration), Elisabeth can reclaim everything she thinks she's lost. Because that's how she sees it. Not that men like Harvey and his old white benefactors paying to satisfy their sexual fantasies on television took it from her. But that gave it away by getting old. If Elisabeth follows this process, she can live vicariously through her double (Margaret Qualley's Sue). Except, of course, that doing so isn't the same as experiencing it herself. They might be "one," but their participation isn't equal.
Therein lies the powder-keg waiting to blow. By never being conscious together, all these women see are remnants of what they deem to be sin. Sue leaves behind evidence of her hedonism and greed through money, sex, and booze. Elisabeth leaves behind the evidence of her jealousy and sloth through fried food and sofa imprints. The former feels the latter is wasting valuable time she could be using to advance her success. The latter feels the former is disrespecting the reality that she wouldn't exist with her sacrifice. They begin to hate each other. They begin to objectify and commodify each other. First, the rules are bent to inflict passive suffering. Next comes physical violence in a quest for survival that doubles as the literal manifestation of mankind's crippling self-loathing.
Fargeat rejects subtlety throughout. Not only does she constantly repeat dialogue and visuals to drive her points home, but she leans into the absurdity of the situation to make certain the body horror aspects are as funny as they are grotesque. This is a satire first and foremost. It's a political film that brings the pain women must withstand via body dysmorphia and toxic gender norms to life. Reality (Elisabeth) must face the damage fantasy delivers while fantasy (Sue) must respect the fact that reality must be confronted eventually. One chips away at the other. What one gains from the process, the other must lose. And even if the fantasy finds a way to prove victorious by taking the wheel, the bill can't be ignored forever.
It leads to an unforgettable finale that's about as hilariously over-the-top as you can get both in its themes (Fargeat is having as much of a blast bashing us over the head with her allegory as Moore is embodying it) and genre aesthetic (along with thanking Ray Liotta—who passed before he could play Harvey—in the end credits, Fargeat also applauds "all the extras in the theater that got covered in blood"). The practical effects are fantastic (Moore's silent scream encased in deformed flesh is one of the year's most disturbing images) and the performances a brilliant mix of devastating emotion and exaggerated caricature. Yes, it's overlong and ultimately a collection of cinematic pastiches, but you cannot deny it's also very entertaining.
- 8/10
Cinematic F-Bombs:
No new entires with the holiday and all. So, I’ll put an old Thanksgiving f-bomb up instead (cinematicfbombs.com).
Katie Holmes dropping an f-bomb in PIECES OF APRIL.
New Releases This Week:
(Review links where applicable)
Opening Buffalo-area theaters 11/27/24 -
MARIA at North Park Theatre
Thoughts are linked above.
MOANA 2 at Dipson Flix & Capitol; AMC Maple Ridge & Market Arcade; Regal Elmwood, Transit, Galleria & Quaker
Streaming from 11/29/24 -
BEATLES ‘64 – Disney+ on 11/29
MUSIC BOX: YACHT ROCK: A DOCKUMENTARY – Max on 11/29
NUTCRACKERS – Hulu on 11/29
OUT COME THE WOLVES – Shudder on 11/29
A CREATURE WAS STIRRING – Shudder on 12/1
TO FIRE YOU COME AT LAST – Shudder on 12/1
BAD ACTOR: A HOLLYWOOD PONZI SCHEME – Hulu on 12/3
JACK IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS – Prime on 12/3
THE ONLY GIRL IN THE ORCHESTRA – Netflix on 12/4
THAT CHRISTMAS – Netflix on 12/4
THE RED VIRGIN – Prime on 12/5
Now on VOD/Digital HD -
CONCLAVE (11/26)
ELEVATION (11/26)
HERE (11/26)
MEMOIR OF A SNAIL (11/26)
“The detail to craft is impossible to ignore. Where it stands apart from its ilk, though, is the darkly comic subject matter that pulls zero punches.” – Full thoughts at HHYS.
TERRIFIER 3 (11/26)
“The film is thus exactly what you'd expect from a slasher sequel starring its predecessor's survivors. [But] the more [Leone] seems to skew away from the cheap vaudeville gags towards [a] sort of sinister hellscape, the more invested I become.” – Full thoughts at HHYS.
WATCHMEN: CHAPTER II (11/26)
WE LIVE IN TIME (11/26)
“Garfield and Pugh are also just plain adorable in their capacity to shed all pretense of celebrity and embody an everyman vibe ruled by desire. They're very funny in that way to alleviate the heavy weight that cancer holds on a movie like this too.” – Full thoughts at The Film Stage.
HEAVIER TRIP (11/29)
HITPIG! (11/29)